March 31, 2015

Catriona writes: at Malice Domestic a year or two back, I sat down at a table at the new authors' breakfast, which I was attending as a vampire. No, not in a cloak and fake teeth - I mean I attended hoping to drink deep from the pulsing veins of debut authors. But not in a creepy way.

Aaaanyway, I turned to a table-mate and had one of those conversations: Writer? Me too. Mysteries? Yup. Historical? Again, yes. Historical and modern? Check. And when you're not writing? Gardening, eh? Likewise. And before you wrote? Linguistics PhD??? Get outta here. Am I a Quaker? No. Phew. That was getting spooky.

It's a delight to be hosting that nearly me-but-with-better-hair author at Femmes Fatales today, talking about the research for her upcoming historical and giving away a copy of FARMED AND DANGEROUS to a commenter. Ladies and gentlemen: Edith Maxwell.

I’m so delighted to be a guest on this fabulous blog today. Thanks for asking me over, Catriona. [Twas naught - being historical in your honour, Edith - CMcP]

Until recently I have been writing mysteries set in contemporary times. My third Local Foods mystery, Farmed and Dangerous, for example, comes out in late May [and is our giveaway today - thanks, Edith]!, and the first Country Store mystery (written as Maddie Day) will be out in November. Both are set within a couple of years of whenever you’re reading them, at least for now.

But then I wrote an Amazon-bestselling historical short crime story whose characters didn’t want to go away (“A Fire in Carriagetown”), so I wrote a novel set in the same year, 1888, and then sold the Quaker Midwife Mysteries to Midnight Ink. Still buzzing with excitement about that! Delivering the Truth will release in April, 2016. [Congratulations. And welcome to midnight Ink! CMcP]

And now I have to go back and forth between today and 1888. I try to work on only one series at a time, but sometimes, like when editorial revisions come in, it’s unavoidable. So how do I make the shift from writing about the present to telling stories about the long ago?

I set the Quaker Midwife Mysteries in Amesbury, Massachusetts, a former mill town tucked into the northeastern corner of the state. I also happen to live there, so walking the streets of my town can plunge me right back into the story. Many historic buildings remain, from brick mill buildings to grand Victorian homes. Also still standing and now a thriving museum is the home of the Quaker poet and abolitionist John Greenleaf Whittier just a few blocks away – and he’s a secondary character in the books. The wide Merrimac River hasn’t changed, nor has Lowell’s Boat Shop, the oldest continually operating boat shop in the country.

I’ve researched what life was like in the late 1800s, pouring over the 1890 Sears and Roebuck catalog, old maps, and local newspapers. I spent a weekend at a living history center in Maine living the life of an 1870s family, right down to chamberpot. If I need to get back in the mood for working on the historical, I just pick up Ruth Goodman’s How to Be a Victorian, or Miss Parola’s New Cookbook and Marketing Guide and leaf through the pages, learning about everything from underwear to kitchen furnishings.

[Sorry to lower the tone - although see below - but good idea on the books. One has to be very careful googling anything to do with underwear, I've found. "Nun's underwear" as a search terms gets you more than you wanted.]

I have to be careful when I write how people talked and how I describe things. Since my protagonist, Rose Carroll, is a Friend, she and the other Quakers in the book use thee and thy instead of you and yours. I’ve made good use of etymology web sites like the Online Etymology Dictionary. I wanted to describe my detective as a gumshoe, but when I looked it up, the first occurrence of the word was in 1906. Oops. In an earlier draft I had described Rose as “centering” in Friends Meeting for Worship. My keen-eyed adult son Allan read it and said, “Mom, I bet they didn’t say that then.” Good catch. And on and on.

Some aspects are hard to research. Up until this week I was still trying to determine if my 1880 house, which is Rose’s house, too, had indoor plumbing. I know some institutions and homes of well-off owners could have had toilets and plumbing at that time, but a modest house? Then my beau Hugh, tearing apart layer by layer the last room in our house to be renovated, came across evidence of the bathroom that the room had been before it became a bedroom. And in that layer was also a 1920 newspaper. So now I can add chamberpots and an outhouse into the story.

I’ve heard other authors say they wouldn’t want to write an historical novel because of all the research. Every novel requires some degree of research, of course, but I’m finding that I love digging into the past, more than I’d ever expected. The trick, to be sure, is to include just enough historical detail to bring the setting and characters alive without beating readers over the head with too much fact. Catriona, you’re my role model for that! [Ta, CMcP] Sliding back into the past after writing in the present is refreshing, too. I never have to worry about modern technology.

Readers: What do you want to know about life in 1888? Got a favorite historical mystery series?

[With apologies, I want to know about the lack of plumbing. You just don't read about the chamber pots and outhouses in the contemporary literature of the time, do you? where did you do your research into vocabulary, for instance. CMcP]

Agatha-nominated and Amazon-bestselling author Edith Maxwell taught childbirth classes and worked as a doula in the early nineties. She has belonged to the Society of Friends (Quaker) for many years, lives in an antique house north of Boston, and attends the same Friends Meeting as John Greenleaf Whittier did. She writes the Quaker Midwife Mysteries, the Local Foods Mysteries (Kensington Publishing), the Country Store Mysteries, written as Maddie Day, and, as Tace Baker, the Lauren Rousseau Mysteries (Barking Rain Press), as well as award-winning short crime fiction. Maxwell, a doctorate in linguistics, is a former organic farmer and technical writer. She blogs at wickedcozyauthors.com. You can find her at www.edithmaxwell.com, @edithmaxwell, on Pinterest, and at www.facebook.com/EdithMaxwellAuthor.

In Delivering the Truth (Midnight Ink, 2016), Quaker midwife Rose Carroll becomes a prime suspect when her stolen knitting needle is used to kill a difficult carriage factory manager, son of the owner, after the factory itself has been hit by an arsonist in April of 1888. Struggling with the strictures of her faith, Rose delivers the baby of the factory owner’s mistress even while the owner’s wife is also seven months pregnant. The mistress’s baby becomes an orphan a week later when his mother is also stabbed to death. Rose’s strengths as a counselor and problem solver help bring the murderers to justice before they destroy the town’s carriage industry and the people who run it.

March 30, 2015

Travelling time is coming up. And this year, I have a new suitcase! I travel so much that I buy my luggage for visibility, not durability.

This started about seven years ago, when my hard-working black suitcase wore out. I swore I would never get another one like it.

I looked at a lot of websites until I found a suitcase I could spot across the room without my glasses on. This hard-sided suitcase was supposed to look like the hide of a white and tan cow (perhaps), and it provoked a lot of comment. When I would tell a driver, “You can’t miss it,” I would actually mean that. I never saw another suitcase like it, though logically I knew mine had not been the only one manufactured, until one very strange night in Shreveport when four rolled out on the baggage carousel. Four. Identical. Suitcases. In this freaky pattern. Three were empty. The fourth one was mine. I have never understood or been able to imagine the story behind that.

My next bag, the one just deceased, was aqua and brown and had tan and black circles on it. It was a good size and I could spot it (though not from the next planet, as I had the first one). Unfortunately, I took it out of the country a few times, and it was cloth. It began to show wear and tear, and a zipper got cranky, and one of the plastic feet. Then it frayed. Goodbye, circle bag!

My new one is imitation crocodile. At least, I am pretty sure that crocodiles don’t come in burgundy. I think it is beautiful, though a bit small. (Maybe I’ll see if I can get a larger model, too.) Crocodile bag is about as conspicuous as the circle bag, but it seems to inspire more respect. It also attracts more admiration than the cow bag. I’m all for that!

If there’s ever a company that makes a diagonally striped suitcase in green and blue . . . could you have them give me a call? I’ll be glad to test it for them.

March 27, 2015

A hellbender is an aquatic salamander. The reason I know this is that my husband, Mr. G, sent a picture of one to me, thinking that I could use a giant version of it as a model for one of the dragons in my Fangborn novels, Seven Kinds of Hell, Pack of Strays, and, as of next Tuesday, Hellbender. Maybe Zoe could even turn into one, he said excitedly.

Um, no. For one thing, I don't like my dragons squishy. If they're going to be squishy, I want them to go the whole sea monster/kaiju route, which would mean extra tentacles, crazy rows of teeth, and laser eyes, at the very least. This little guy is cute enough, but as I said, squishy and rather dull. Not my idea of a beautiful and terrible creature, like Smaug, say, or one of those gorgeous, swirling images of wise and powerful Chinese dragons. The other thing is that I didn't want Zoe to be able to turn into something that was also colloquially called “mud devil,” “grampus,” or even as Wikipedia has it, a “leverian water newt.” My favorite version, “snot otter,” does not inspire notions of danger or heroics or an awesome protagonist. I'm just saying.

But using “hellbender” as a title...that sent shivers down my spine and more importantly, got me reaching for the keyboard. “The Hellbender,” something or someone who can bend hells? That says all kinds of danger and heroics and awesomeness to me, and all it needed was a definite article and a capital H. In this case, I decided that the “hells” being bent were more in the line of chaos and physics than philosophy, which gave me a bunch of clues as to how the Fangborn vampires, werewolves, and oracles get their powers. (And you can see just a hint of a dragon's tail, in the cover, below.)

I knew by the end of Pack of Strays that Quarrel, a dragon, used the term as an honorific for Zoe, my Fangborn werewolf and archaeologist, as she's trying to defeat the Order in their all-too-public attack on the Fangborn in Boston. She needs to find out why he's using that name, convinced it has a clue to her new powers. And right when she might get some answers...poof. Somehow she's removed from the action to Japan, a whole world between her and her embattled Family. Trust me when I say, she needs all the help she can get by the time Hellbender begins.

Sometimes all it takes is turning an idea around, seeing it from a different angle, to find something that will transform your work in unexpected ways. Crack open a plain-looking stone, and suddenly you can see a cluster of crystals that had been hidden. It was a good lesson in reminding me not to be too hasty in discarding an idea that was initially unappealing. Thanks, Mr. G! XOXO

I am so excited about this book! If you'd like to win a copy of Hellbender (47North, available next Tuesday, 3-31!), leave a comment below. I'll pick a comment left by 5:00pm EDT Sunday, so please check back to see if you've won! U.S. and Canada only, please—sorry, international friends!

March 25, 2015

The young woman at the pharmacy counter managed to look sympathetic as he continued complaining. All of us in line felt his pain, though I wondered why he was yelling at a helpless clerk. She couldn’t demand that Big Pharma lower the price.

As the angry man ranted, the line grew restless. It was nearly three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and we had things to do.

"So do you want the test strips, sir?" the clerk asked.

"Yeah, I’ll take them," he said, as if he was doing her a favor. He left, muttering. I bought my $11 bottle of lotion.

I like the staff at this Fort Lauderdale Walgreens. I consider them co-conspirators. Like many Americans, my heath insurance company looks for ways not to pay for my prescriptions. The helpful pharmacy staff will say, "Hey, you can only refill that prescription every 30 days. Wait till Thursday and your insurance will cover it."

That’s why I always give this Walgreens the highest marks in the "How are we doing?" monthly sweepstakes for $3,000 cash. I have no hope I’ll ever win 3,000 bucks, but unlike the lottery, I have a slightly better chance. Especially since I don’t buy lottery tickets.

So I go to www.Wagcares.com and answer the questions about my service at Walgreens.

These are predictable variations on standard mystery shopping questions: Was the staff polite and helpful? Were the items I wanted easy to find? Was the store clean?

But lately, I’ve been seeing different questions. Questions I find unsettling. Now Wagcares asks:

"Were you greeted by the staff when you entered the store?"

Yes.

No.

Don’t remember.

"During your most recent visit to Walgreens, did any employee say the following to you:

"Welcome to Walgreens

"Be Well

"Thank You"

Be Well? I wasn’t sick. I was buying lotion. What idiots say "be well" for that?

No one. Unless they were ordered to do so by an idiot at the home office.

But when Walgreens said, "We appreciate your feedback," I let them know. "Your staff is helpful and useful," I wrote. "Please don’t make them parrot stupid phrases like ‘Be Well.’ It’s demeaning to your staff and pointless to your customers. ‘Thank you’ is enough."

But it wasn’t. I went back to Walgreens again, this time for lipstick. And the survey still wanted to know if an employee told me to "Be Well."

Be Well? Why? Was the lipstick supposed to make my lips shrivel up and fall off?

Walgreens is not getting the message. So let me try it this way:

Dear Walgreens,

Like millions of Americans, I shop at one of your stores. And like these Americans, I’ve been forced to do pointless things to please management for a lousy – and I do mean lousy – paycheck. Here are some things I or my friends have had to do:

(1) Work as a banquet bartender for a giant hotel chain and wear a hillbilly costume – with a corn cob pipe – at a theme party.

(2) Answer a store phone with, "Thank you for calling The Big Store, where service is always delivered with a smile and Some Totally Useless Item is on sale for X.99 through Saturday. My name is Elaine."

(3) Go to company motivational meetings, learn corporate chants and get a free motivational coffee mug.

There’s more, much more. I could go on for hours. I could also shop at CVS.

March 24, 2015

The Femmes are delighted to welcome guest Femme D.D. Ayres today. As Leigh Perry, my covers also include a dog and a mostly undressed guy. Yet the effect is very different than on D.D.'s books. Take it away, D.D.

How could I resist the offer from my editor to develop a series about cool K-9 dogs and their hot guy handlers? And not in the, “Lassie, get help. Timmie’s down the well,” sort of way. Only one problem. I knew next to nothing about K-9 teams. There was research to be done. I was pretty sure that highly trained K-9s were nothing like pets. I just hoped that they were nothing like the razor-fanged demons often portrayed in movies when someone is running for his or her life.

Luckily, I was correct, both times.

First piece of luck, was being introduced to Fort Worth, TX Police Officer Brad Thompson as a resource. Brad worked for 22 years in the Special Operations/K9 Unit, responsible for training and deployment of patrol and narcotic detection K9s. Brad is a natural teacher. With a novella and three books behind me, he’s still my go-to-first person with K-9 questions. So lucky to have him.

Here are some of the things I’ve learned while researching the series.

K-9 canines are specially bred and trained. Most dogs can’t do what these animals do. Think of them as the Olympians/SWAT/Mensa members of the canine world.

Many understand English but respond “on the job” to commands in German, Czech or Dutch.

Handlers are a special breed and very passionate about “running a dog.” They routinely spend more time with their K-9s than with their families. They also understand the individuality of their dogs and are tolerant. If a trained dog misbehaves, it’s the handler’s fault.

K-9 teams train daily so that “First command” is habit. Add to that, a minimum of 20 hours a month of more formal training to stay fresh and alert.

The handler takes care of nearly all the dog’s needs. They keep a K-9 emergency kit in the cruiser, and can administer aid and dress wounds in the field.

The Dual Purpose Police Dog is the most common type of K-9 dog, and works Patrol and Apprehension. The mad-demon dog is the last thing a patrol officer wants when dealing with the public. Balanced and professional are words I heard a lot. When commanded to “Fass” or bite, he’s a full-mouth takedown artist. But that same dog must also be able to tolerate crowds at local footballs games and parades.

“Emotion feeds down the leash.” A trained K-9 will know if her/his handler is excited, upset, angry, scared, worried, happy, calm, or in pain and will act accordingly.

Handlers receive dogs that have already been trained for a minimum of two years. The training handlers receive is in how to work effectively with a trained dog.

After Brad established me in Law Enforcement methods I also spent time with breeders, and trainers.

I met breeders of Bouvier de Flandres for my new book, Force of Attraction.

No, that’s not a Bouvie on the cover. Hugo’s undercover!

Bouvies are new in the U. S. as law enforcement dogs. They look ‘soft’ like cuddly Teddy bears. But on the job a Bouvie is more like Batman in the bear suit, as my hero learns when he encounters the heroine’s K-9 partner Hugo. By focusing on a different breed for each book, I want to show the unique differences that make these dogs special.

For the next book in the series, Primal Force (Sept. ’15), I spent time with Patriot Paws, a service dog training program in Rockwall, TX, to learn about service and PTSD dogs for veterans. These are calm/person-oriented dogs who can open a refrigerator, remind an owner to take meds, wake a patient about to have a seizure, answer the door, phone 911, force a veteran out of a flashback, call suicide prevention, pull a wheelchair, bear the weight of someone who’s momentarily lost balance, or move a person out of the situation causing anxiety.

I could go on and on. I’m so impressed by the dedication of the men and woman who train and work beside these dogs. Doing my research, I’ve made new friends I would not otherwise have. Just last week, at the Police K-9 Conference in Las Vegas, I met a 50-year-old woman who’s a Search-and-Rescue K-9 handler. She rapels out of helicopters into wilderness areas with her dog strapped to her body. So impressed!

I've always had two cats. A pair of brother and sister. Arthur and Maggie, Poppy and Clive, Carrie and Spud (actually not brother and sister now I think of it, a foundling and a pet shop springee), and most recently Dennis and Rachel, who came to stay when they were five weeks old, eight and a half years ago.

They grew up together:

Sharing the same basket even when it got too small:

Inseparable.

But last September, quite unexpectedly, Dennis Buggit died, taking a chunk of my heart with him.

Oh, how I miss him. He was a cat for people who think they don't like cats: bold, affectionate, "helpful" e.g. with bedmaking, chatty . . . Rachel, in contrast, is exactly the kind of cat who makes people who don't like cats not like cats: timid, stand-offish, moody, unrewarding. Of course, I adore her but she doesn't give much back.

I miss having a cat who'll let me pick him up, who'll come to greet guests, who'll climb a ladder to see the view from the roof. I want a cat who does this again:

(Neil bent over to poke the fire and Dennis saw his chance for some physical contact.)

So I've been thinking about a new cat.

And I'm not even pretending that it's concern for poor lonely Rachel driving these plans. Because Rachel, left alone without the brother she spent her life with . . . couldn't care less. She's neither up not down. As every cat hater would say: "typical".

Nope, my new cat plans are completely selfish. Rachel doesn't even like other cats. (She doesn't actually like anyone that much.) But when she moved to California she lived with a dog for six months, so I'm going to assume she'll be okay. There might be a few frosty weeks but eventually she'll thaw out and go back to treating us with her customary lukewarm disdain.

All my cat-expert friends tell me that she's more likely to tolerate a youngster than an adult, that a tiny mewling baby who needs her might ignite some spark of catly acceptance deep inside.

So when I say I'm getting a cat I mean a kitten and when I say a kitten, of course, I mean two. Because Rachel "accepting" is never going to mean fun and companionship for the new arrival and kittens need friends. A kitten needs someone else to climb the other curtain with its eyes wild, its ears flat and its tiny tail lashing. A kitten needs an ally to help in conquering the mighty enemy - Piece of String. A kitten needs a wingman to help it with the important job of herding ping pong balls in a bathtub.

And yes, okay, I need to watch two curtain-climbing, string-killing, ping-pong-ball-herding kittens, because it's the best thing there is.

I wish I could tell Rachel to make the most of the peace while it lasts.

Because whether she likes it or not, sometime soon, probably in May when my trips and travels are over for a while, I'm going to start scouring the shelters for two bold, affectionate, helpful, chatty kittens. They'll just be being born about now.

Meanwhile, if anyone has any advice about getting a snooty cat to shake down with new flatmates, I'd love to hear it. One cat pal said to wash the kitten with my own shampoo then leave it wet and pathetic, so Rachel would lick it dry. But I wouldn't put it past her just to laugh and hook a door open with her paw to let a cold draft in.

March 23, 2015

Yesterday, as I was driving down the back roads of Reston and Vienna to pick up my friend Joni so we could carpool to a Malice Domestic planning meeting, I passed a venue of vultures—yes, that's the proper collective noun. They were hovering over something at the side of the road. Most people would probably shudder and avert their eyes. I cursed the fact that I was on a tight schedule and probably shouldn't park the car and take pictures. But I consoled myself with the fact that they'd probably be there when I was on my way home.

They were. Although by that time they were sulking because the relatively mild and pleasant Sunday afternoon had brought out a lot of cars and made it dangerous to dine on their find—a dead raccoon. They were clustered on the hill above the carcass, glowering balefully down at the passing cars and occasionally flapping down to make an unsuccessful attempt to resume their meal.

What if Meg was driving down one of the back roads of Caerphilly and spotted a similar gathering of vultures. And what if instead of a raccoon . . . ?

Like most of Northern Virginia, I'm enjoying the slow, halting, but detectable progress of spring. Early daffodils, the ones that would normally peek through the snow in February, are just starting to bloom. I've only seen a few crocuses—were the rest eaten underground by desperate foraging rodents? I won't know till they fail to show completely. In fact, the next month will be a time of mixed sorrow and rejoicing—rejoicing every time a favorite plant shows signs that it plans to survive in spite of what Mother Nature inflicted on it over the last few months, and sorrow when it becomes clear that yet another plant has joined that great back yard in the sky. Thank goodness for the hellebores, which are already in full bloom, although they don't quite look as festive as usual. In fact, they look downright bedraggled, thanks to having their foliage squashed under so much snow for so long. And how did there get to be so much debris under the snow? There are moments when I think I was happier when all I saw was the snow.

Hmmm . . . what if when the snow melted in Caerphilly, Meg found something more than branches and broken flowerpots underneath?

And you never want to take a writer along when you're househunting.

You may see a wine cellar, a gazebo, a cleverly hidden storage closet.

We see bodies. Sprawled on the floor of your wine cellar with a broken bottle of Dom Perignon nearby. Artfully posed in the center of your gazebo clutching a corner of the missing will with an antique stiletto sticking out of the back. Tucked away unseen in your nifty storage closet until in the course of time . . . well, never mind the details.

We just don't see the world like normal people. Which is why going to conventions, hanging out with fellow mystery writers—and readers—is such a joy.

March 20, 2015

When we were introduced to Angela Misri, Jewel of the Thames, the first book in her Portia Adams Sherlockian series had just come out. Now she's tackling what comes after a detective learns she's a detective and in this guest post, tells us some of the challenges of writing the series sophomore. Angela, take it away!

What they don't tell you about writing the second book in a series

The thing they don’t tell you about book two in a series is that the pressure you put on yourself to tell a good mystery really turns up the heat. Good thing the second Portia Adams Adventure is called Thrice Burned!

In all seriousness, I learned so much in the revision process for Jewel of the Thames that by the time I got to that stage in book two, I was able to focus on the detective work, which is my favourite part of mysteries (both reading and writing them). The cases get harder for Portia to solve, which means the research gets that much harder for me. Where the clues in Jewel are clearer and simpler in some ways, in Thrice Burned I made the crimes more complex, I gave the criminals just a little more back-story. I feel like by the third case (called Truth be Told) in the book Portia was finally competing at the same level as her more famous relatives. Not only that, I felt like taking on the prostitutes as her clients and then adding them to Portia’s own version of the Baker Street Irregulars allowed her to step even further out of the shadows of Holmes and Watson. I’m pretty proud of that story if you can’t tell.

In terms of the larger arc of Portia’s growth into the detective I know she will be, this was a book where she had to embrace that realization herself. She had to put aside distractions and insecurities and the ‘easy’ road and make a real decision to become the latest consulting detective to hail from Baker Street. That was a big deal for both of us and I really wanted to write that arc to show Portia’s struggle with her decisions. Easy vs hard. Lawyer vs detective. Brian’s advice vs Gavin’s. Fame vs the quiet life. Someday, in a future story, I sense that she will wonder if she should have chosen differently as we all do at some point in our lives.

Finally, writing about Annie Coleson was like introducing my family to my best friend. Very early on in Portia’s development I considered recreating the dynamic duo of Holmes and Watson but with two women, and Annie was the Watson to Portia’s Holmes. When I started writing about Brian Dawes, I found that instead of falling into the Lestrade foil as he was intended to be, he became Portia’s equal, and Annie fell by the wayside. What I discovered at the end of Jewel was that Portia is more than just Holmes, therefore her ‘Watson’ must also be ‘more.’ Annie and Brian together will fill out Portia’s life, adding value to her detective work and bringing love and friendship into her solitary life.

I can’t wait to hear what people think of Thrice Burned, and all the new characters - I hope you love them as much as I do!

Angela Misri is a Toronto author who writes detective fiction inspired by her birth country, Great Britain. The first book in her YA detective series is called Jewel of the Thames and follows her detective Portia Adams through her first three cases as she immigrates from 1930s Toronto to the bustling streets of London. The second book in the series is out now and is called Thrice Burned. Misri has spent most of her career at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation making radio ‘extra-terrestrial’ through digital strategy, podcasts and websites.

March 18, 2015

I am one of the many writers (probably in the majority) who do not make a living as full-time writers. I have a day job -- I am a medical librarian. In my position I am in charge of the electronic journals and databases that our faculty and students use in their work and studies. The journal collection at my library has to meet a number of needs, not only across a wide range of subjects and specialties, but a range of purposes as well: clinical, educational, and research.

In this role I deal with a side of publishing that is far different from publishing as a mystery writer. Scholarly publishing works along quite different lines. As a mystery writer, I produce novels that, through my agent, I sell to a publisher. In return, I get an advance from the publisher, and once that has been earned back by my books' sales, I start earning royalties. Not so in scholarly publishing.

In the medical and scientific fields, research is driven by the journal article. The publishers of these journals do not pay the authors for their work -- the authors are paid by their respective institutions to perform research, and they also get grant money from various entities. These articles go through a peer review process, during which they are sent to experts who pass judgment on whether they are good enough to be published. The peer reviewers aren't paid either.

This is all part of the tenure process in universities as well. Those who hope, in a competitive market, for tenure and promotion have to publish in peer-reviewed journals that are highly regarded in their fields. Thus they research, write, submit, and are published -- all without money changing hands between them and their publishers.

In my role as a librarian, I have to license access to this research in the journals, and my library/institution has to pay a significant amount for the most part to gain access to the content. Content that faculty at my institution created in the first place.

Interesting paradigm, wouldn't you say? Particularly for the publishers of such content. I have published an article in a peer-reviewed journal, and I contributed essays to a scholarly reference book. I didn't get paid for any of that. While there was satisfaction on my part in having such things published, it didn't, in the long run, have much impact on my bank account.

Which is why, as you have no doubt figured out by now, I "moonlight" as a mystery writer.

March 16, 2015

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: You know Henery Press, right? It’s THE upandcoming publisher, focusing on cozies. (The adorable chicken is their logo--this is the winter version.) But the point is, you have to know Kendel Lynn, the managing editor. How she does it, I don’t know. Because she not only runs a thriving and award-winning publishing company, she also is a wonderfully accomplished Agatha-nominated author. And little did I know, apparently, a party planner. But she needs your help to plan the St. Patrick's Day party that’s a set piece for her next book. (And she’ll award two books to a lucky commenter!) So what better day for a party—than today!

PARTY Please!

By Kendel Lynn

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I’m delighted to be here, and while I’d love to chat about my new book (out today!), I’m busy plotting the next one (Pot Luck) which happens to feature a fabulous St. Patrick’s Day celebration.

One of the great joys of writing fiction is living vicariously through my characters, especially my Elliott. She gets do things and say things I can't, or at least wish I could. Donald Maass once said something to the effect of: most of us have thought of the perfect snappy insult or comeback, something to win the argument, but too late. I totally agree. And lest you think those moments mostly happen in high school, it happened to me on a panel

at Bouchercon.

(it happens to me on every panel). I had the best answer (interesting, intelligent, with a hint of wit) as soon as the question moved on. Oy.

Now if conference panels ran like presidential debates, I could’ve ignored the next question that came my way and took it back to the previous one to give my clever answer, but I'm polite and kind and not running for office.

I love thinking up the best responses for Elliott and the gang. Dreaming of scenarios where she gets to let loose (or sometimes another lets loose on her). Another vicarious pursuit (and dragging this back to St. Patrick’s Day): I want her involved in things I'd love to do, so she plans amazing parties.

The Palm & Fig Ball in Swan Dive (out today!), the most amazing Wonderland Tea Party in Whack Job (complete with enormous whimsical topiary animals, a nine-foot topsy-turvy cake, and a seven-piece Dixieland band in vests and boaters), and soon a St. Patrick’s Day celebration in Pot Luck.

And here's where you come in (because I don't cook, though I love to eat, and I've got the elastic waistband to prove it)…I'd love help planning this one, as we chat here on St. Patrick’s Day.

Here’s what I have so far for the Irish Spring beer-tasting fundraiser: Takes place on the back lawn of the Ballantyne Big House. Over thirty-five rolling acres covered with magnolias, pines, crape myrtles and palm trees. The menu: I'm thinking twenty local breweries serving up special blends. Do all brew pubs go green on St. Patrick’s? What other cocktails go Irish?

We’ll have a corned beef cook-off (all renowned local chefs) – did I mention Elliott's shindigs are part of her duties as Director of the billion-dollar Ballantyne Foundation? So yeah, every festivity is extravagantly imaginative) – whiskey-glazed corned beef and cabbage, braised corned beef flat cut brisket, corned beef spring rolls (a local Dallas restaurant makes the BEST most delicious ones). What other gourmet corned beef dishes could we feature? High end, super fancy and super delicious? And for dessert? Perhaps Baileys Irish Cream cupcakes? Is there a traditional dessert?

Entertainment: I've got an Irish folk band (figuring Bono is booked). What else goes into a typical St. Patrick’s Day celebration?

Lastly, (Femmes Fatale Catriona McPherson, I’m looking at you), do other countries celebrate St. Patrick’s Day the way we do in America with green beer and corned beef and leprechaun hats and Kiss Me I'm Irish tees? Is this a worldwide celebration?

To celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, one Lucky (get it?) commenter (or really question answerer) wins double: Two (SIGNED!) Board Stiffs for the price of one (free)! The first Board Stiff (an Elliott Lisbon Mystery) is by me, and the second Board Stiff (a Dead-End Job Mystery) is by Femmes Fatale Fabulous (and one of the nicest and most genuinely funny people), Elaine Viets.

Thank you for hosting me and thank you for helping me!

Kendel Lynn is a Southern California native who now parks her flip-flops in Dallas, Texas. Her debut novel, Board Stiff, was an Agatha Award nominee for Best First Novel. It features Elliott Lisbon, a mostly amateur sleuth who has a slight aversion to all things germy and is only five thousand hours away from getting her South Carolina PI license. The latest, Swan Dive, releases today! Along with writing, Kendel spends her days as Managing Editor of Henery Press editing, designing, and reading subs from the slush pile.